7.31.2010

for Drew

For the graceful expansion of capillary waves.For the shake of embracing that risk.

YOUR DOG DIES

it gets run over by a van. you find it at the side of the road and bury it. you feel bad about it. you feel bad personally, but you feel bad for your daughter because it was her pet, and she loved it so. she used to croon to it and let it sleep in her bed. you write a poem about it. you call it a poem for your daughter, about the dog getting run over by a van and how you looked after it, took it out into the woods and buried it deep, deep, and that poem turns out so good you're almost glad the little dog was run over, or else you'd never have written that good poem. then you sit down to write a poem about writing a poem about the death of that dog, but while you're writing you hear a woman scream your name, your first name, both syllables, and your heart stops. after a minute, you continue writing. she screams again. you wonder how long this can go on.Raymond Carver

you walk to the kitchen to grab something to eat.you find your woman lying on the floor,next to your dog.covered in dirt.you star to bark.N. Doulos